Unspoken
by Aphina
Summary: Set after Fifth Man. Alan takes care of his son the only way he knows how.


**Unspoken**

It was a nightmare, Don Eppes had known that right from the very second he had taken those dreaded footsteps up towards the guest house. It was always the same and as always he was powerless to stop it. In his dreams he was always there with Nikki. The details never changed, not in the weeks since the stabbing and he relived his near death experience every night as if it was happening all over again.

His dark chocolate coloured eyes traced the contours of the young agent's cappacino features as she dropped like a stone in front of him. He hadn't seen what hit her but he had sure as hell heard the obsecenely loud cracking sound resounding through the air as it smashed her in the head. There had been no glint of light from the shadows, no tell tale whisper of breathing. The suspect had been stealthy, there was no doubt about that. It had also left questions vibrating through Don's mind as his sharp, keen eyes sought out any possible movement as he moved tentatively towards Nikki's sprawled out form. In all the other home invasions they had investigated there had only been four perpetrators, the possibility of five didn't make any sense.

"Nik?" Don choked out into the darkness, treading closer to the young agent. "Nikki?"

There was no response from Nikki, no movement, no sign of life. Shit, from his position Don hadn't even been able to see if Nik was breathing. He remembered the thoughts from that night, about how she was his responsibility, she was his agent, on his team and he would be damned if he lost her on a routine sweep of the guest house. Despite her arrogance, the girl was tough but head injuries were tricky things and Nikki's blood was already spreading towards the tips of his shoes as he lowered his weapon in order to attend his fallen comrade.

There was a moment of stillness, the air from that night had already been charged with violence and apprhension from the gun fight, Don could practically taste again in the air. The dark hair on the back of his neck began to prickle and his hackles rose as the slightest rustle of cloth perforated his ears...

The explosion of pain was excruciating. Don had never felt any thing like it before as the thin steel knife was driven into his rib cage right to the hilt, not once, but twice. The red, hot blood was already gushing through his clothes as a sickening agony wretched at his insides with every breath he took. His eyes fell upon Nikki's defenceless body, his knees quivering as he took a shaky step towards her.

His world lunged sideways and for a second Don found himself trying to figure out which way was up. His gun wasn't in his hand any more, he could feel his fingers tingling as his knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. His breathes were becoming out in ragged, wet heaves as he struggled to drag himself across the gritty concrete, that final few feet towards his immobile agent.

There wasn't much he remembered after that, his vision had started to darken around the edges and the memories came in agonising flashes that tore at the very fabric of his mind.

Conciousness was besieging him now and Don was glad for it. Charlie would always joke about how Zen he seemed to be, considering how he had almost died but the truth was the event had damaged more than just his body.

He was never one to ask for help. In fact he was always the one that gave it but right now Don felt vulnerable and he despised that rampant emotion. He was used to being strong and reliable but right now twisted up in all these blankets on Charlie's couch he felt weak and frustrated.

Already he would hear the familiar and yet reassuring footsteps of his father as he tread down the stairs as quietly as he could. The shame flushed though Don the same way it always did when this happened. He already knew he looked like hell, he could feel his tee-shirt clinging to his torso, drenched with perspiration as he wrestled himself painfully up into a sitting position. He must have cried out in his sleep again, hell, his hands were still shaking as he ran them through his dark tousled hair. He was not this pathetic, ruined man and he needed to believe that.

"Don?" Alan questioned, the concern evident in his voice.

Don hated that sound, he hated the fact his father was worried for him, he wanted to go back to the days before the stabbing, before he'd become some frightened kid again. Being injured had made him question things in his life and Don felt overwhelmed by the unsurity that rocked his world.

"I'm fine dad." Don said quietly without making eye contact with his father. "Go back to bed."

Alan was no fool, he could see the pain that lurked behind his first born's eyes and it killed him every time. Don was strong, there was no doubt about that but the stabbing had shaken him right down to his very core. Time was the greatest healer of trauma, or so he had heard somewhere. Don just needed time to process, he needed normalcy so he could deal with it.

"Couldn't sleep."Alan told his son, the palm of his hand rubbing across his grizzled features. "Too busy thinking about the cryptic clues in the LA times."

It was was lie and the both of them knew that but it was a gesture that Don appreciated as he watched his father manoeuvre himself into his favourite arm chair before his weathered hand came to rest upon the remote.

"You mind if I stay up and watch something?" Alan asked, his gaze shifting to Don once more.

The real unspoken question bubbled up into the space between them leaving the ball once more in Don's court, the same way it was every night.

_Do you want company?_

The truth was Don slept better with his father there. There was something soothing about his presence and Don understood that stemmed from their interactions when he was a kid. When he had been afraid of the bogey man, his father had been the one to help him search under the bed with a torch, he would spend hours reading the sports pages to Don as he drifted to sleep. It was a similar principle here and the vulnerable side of Don grasped onto that security blanket as tightly as it could.

"Sure." Don said with a deliberate shrug of his shoulders. "I couldn't sleep anyway."

It was a concession, not one he made lightly. Don had never admitted that out loud before, Alan acknowledged it with a simple nod before turning his attention back to TV. That's what Don liked about his father, there was no fuss and he needed that right now.

"You wanna watch the game again?" Alan stated before continuing. "I missed some of the highlights."

Another lie, but yet again one that Don was grateful for. Sports was a comfort zone for him, one that he always retreated to after a bad day.

"Sure." He agreed before settling down into a more comfortable position on the couch.

The game was ten minutes in when Alan's sensitive hearing picked up the soft, familiar sound of Don's deep breathing. He glanced at his son, draped over the couch like a teenager in the deepest of sleeps before he switched off the TV and rose to his feet. He watched his eldest drift peacefully for a few minutes before he pulled the blanket up to Don's chest and ran the gentlest of fingertips over his son's thick dark hair as he spoke.

"Sweet dreams Don."


End file.
